My whole body tenses as I reach the next floor. I’ve spent the last four months bending over backwards to avoid my ex—exactly what I’m supposed to be taking a break from right now. If I’m going to have any hope of actually relaxing this week, I’m going to have to figure out a waynotto get so flustered by Caleb.
What was it Joanna said about lizard brain?
I think mine might be full crocodile by now.
13
Fortunately (and unfortunately) for me, dinner that night revolves not around the third degree interview I’ve been expecting, but around some insane horse dancing activity called “dressage.” As usual, I decline the reluctant invitation to stay up late getting sloshed with Matthew and Steven and manage to wake up before sunrise to the gentle sound of waves lapping beneath the portholes of my cabin. I reach for my phone and see that it’s still only 6am. Icouldlounge around like a bum pretending I might get some more sleep, or, if I’m fast, I can get up to the top deck to catch sunrise. Despite the pounding in my head from one awkwardness-numbing cocktail too many, I choose option B.
I reach the top deck just in time to catch the arresting bloom of first light. The palm-flecked hills of the island bleed into the tropical blues of the reef, where the little harbor we’re anchored in is as glassy as a frozen pond. There’s something delicious about being awake before everyone else. At home, when it’s just me with my books and crispy house plants and privacy is the default, hours alone stretch out like winding, rural highways and lose their luster. But with other peoplebookending every moment of my day, a few minutes without speaking suddenly become sacred—a secret slice of morning I get all to myself.
I sit back in the cushy deck lounger and allow a sense of contented relaxation to sweep over me. So far, besides their grand entrance, Harry’s parents haven’t been as bad as I thought. Sure, nodding politely while Jules panicked her way through their slew of questions like an overcaffeinated miss America contestant at dinner last night was headache-inducing, but they’ve mostly managed to leave me alone. Even Matthew’s started ignoring me now that he realizes how unexciting I am. There’s just the small matter of Jules telling Caleb I wanted to jump his bones.
I cringe. At least now that the most awkward thing that could possibly happen has come to pass, we can go right back to hating each other. Which means I can officially declare the grueling part of this trip over. Starting today, I will no longer be Stella stresspants. I’m going to focus on enjoying this vacation with my sister and, dare I say it, her new family.
After the sun’s risen over the palm trees, I head down to the salon in search of a snack. When I get there, Jules is nowhere to be found, but Steven and all three of the Warren men are already seated at the breakfast bar in their pajamas. Even Matthew’s alive and talking.
I smile and slip into the seat beside Harry where a plate has already been laid out.
“Eat up, Stella,” Arthur says as I load my plate with a slice of watermelon and not one brown-sugar raspberry muffin, but two. “We’ve got quite the itinerary today!”
“Please, Dad,” Matthew groans, “no fun before eleven a.m.”
“What did you have in mind, Dad?” Harry asks. “The schedule just says, ‘Surprise!’”
Arthur rubs his hands together in anticipation.
“Jet ski race!” he exclaims, throwing a finger into the air like an ancient Sherlock Holmes. “Matty, whatdya say?”
“Hard pass,” Matthew drawls, barely looking up from his phone.
“No chance in hell, Arthur,” Patricia snaps, and I realize she’s been sitting on one of the sofas like a watchful gargoyle this whole time. “I won’t have you breaking your back on day one. Do you know how far we are from the nearest decent hospital?”
Arthur brushes her away. “Nonsense. I could run circles around this island.”
“Arthur,” his wife warns him, “I swear to god, if you put one hand on a jet ski?—“
“What about something a little simpler?” Harry offers. “It’s been a while since we’ve held one of our famous Vela Bianca relays!”
“Can’t we just relax for once?” Matthew asks. “I’m still recovering from our eel sighting yesterday.”
“Relax?” Arthur butts in indignantly. I get the impression that Harry’s dad hasn’t had so much as one quiet minute in his eighty years of cognizance. “What are we, cadavers? Time’s a wasting!”
Arthur cups his hand to his mouth and shouts directly into my face. I have to actively stop myself from covering my ears.
“Caleb!”
“Keep your voice down!” Patricia snaps. “He’s on the bridge, not in Australia.”
Caleb trots down the stairs into the salon like a summoned golden retriever, his hair mussed ever so slightly on one side as if he’s been leaning on the dash. Maybe the Warrens have finally worn out Mr. Perfect.
“What are the chances of setting up a relay this morning?” Arthur asks, although I think he already knows the answer.
“Your wish is my command,” Caleb confirms like the good little golden boy he is. “What did you have in mind?”
“The usual,” Arthur provides. “Kayak races, trampoline battles…”
“High jump?”
